Pawn
by dudeurfugly
Summary: Gemma, Neal's daughter, chooses the wrong person to pick pocket and ends up face-to-face with an old adversary of her father's. Mozzie has a lot of explaining to do. Things go downhill from there. Future fic. Part of the 'Baby Steps' 'verse but can be read alone.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything, except Gemma.**

**A/N: I realize I haven't updated 'Baby Steps' in ages, but this one shot hit me and wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it. Consider it a glimpse into the future for our patchwork family.**

* * *

Gemma would have to remember to thank her Uncle Mozzie for unleashing her upon New York City unsupervised.

All things considered, with her pent-up after school energy and arsenal of skillful con tricks, it probably wasn't the best idea. In fact, it was so far from a good idea that it made the adrenaline coursing through her system twice as prevalent. But that was the exciting part, wasn't it? Gemma couldn't deny she found the worst ideas alluring, and Mozzie was full of supremely awful schemes. Awful, in the sense that they were _illegal_, not life-threatening. They piqued the interest of her inner thrill-seeker, a teenager with a rebellious streak as wide as the Hudson and the city at her fingertips. Breaking the rules once and awhile without getting caught was a game she found worth playing. If her father knew Mozzie had been teaching her on the sly, neither of them would ever hear the end of it.

That's why they'd laid down some ground rules last year. Mozzie agreed to appease Gemma's deep-seated con artist tendencies if she agreed to his terms and conditions. He explained all of this in the usual flare of his Mozzisms, reminding Gemma of one quote or another by a famous philosopher whose name she could barely pronounce. Once he'd almost completely lost her attention, he told her the three never-to-be-broken rules:

"Not a word to Neal or Uncle Suit," he'd said. "Unless you'd like one of those tracking anklets of your own, because I will not hesitate to tell them this entire thing was your doing. I wash my hands of any responsibility for your reckless teenage actions."

"Thanks a lot," Gemma said flatly. "Second rule?"

"Right. You are not to use these tricks whenever you feel like it. Only—_and I mean only_—when I give you permission. This is imperative above everything else. I cannot make it any more clear to you how—"

"I got it, Uncle Mozzie." Gemma rolled her eyes. "I'm fifteen, not stupid."

"That remains to be seen."

Gemma leveled him with a narrow-eyed glare. "Last rule?"

"Target people who look like they can stand to lose a few dollar bills," Mozzie advised. "Instead of the unsuspecting college student who's left her purse open, go for the harried businessman who's just spilled coffee on his overpriced tie."

"Morality for criminals?" Gemma asked.

"We have to have standards somewhere, grasshopper."

When Gemma found Mozzie loitering a block from her high school on her trek home, she knew today was one of those reckless, three rule afternoons. She'd left him behind at a street vendor after he had reminded her to stay within a reasonable radius in the unlikely event that she ran into trouble. Sunlight glinted off the windows of the buildings, and fluffy white clouds floated lazily across the sky. Gemma liked spring in New York City. She loved days when the air was warm but not stifling, and summer was on the horizon. She'd been able to forgo pants in favor of a patterned sundress paired with ballet flats. Gemma had stolen one of her father's older fedora hats to go along with it, though with his collection, she doubted he would miss it.

Gemma's hands flexed at her sides in anticipation. She could feel her pulse quicken as she joined the crowds. Everyone was out and about because of the good weather. It wouldn't take much to find a decent mark. She headed for a street corner where the light was about to turn green and cause a backup in pedestrian traffic. Weaving in between them, Gemma observed the possibilities: she skimmed over a young mother pushing a stroller and an elderly couple holding hands. They were out of the question. There were many faces and little time—Gemma pushed her way in toward a middle aged man wearing an expensive suit.

She knew she'd found her mark.

The man was quite tall, and handsome for his age, if Gemma had to be honest. There was faint traces of gray in his brunette hair and lines around the corners of eyes, focused on the screen of whatever pricey phone he happened to be in the possession of. He was distracted, and with the lack of elbow room around here, bumping into one another was unavoidable. Based on his "type," Gemma could only guess that he carried his wallet in the pocket of his suit jacket. Her window of opportunity was growing thin. Using a practiced hand and a feather-light touch, she slit the pocket and slipped the contents into the side pocket of her dress. Gemma dropped the razor into the bag slung across her chest—making a mental note to remember it was there—before following the crowd once the light changed.

Gemma offered a less than subtle thumbs up to Mozzie as she approached him, beaming from ear to ear. He gave her a pointed look but she didn't tone down her enthusiasm in the slightest. She had a feeling she'd scored a pretty decent chunk of change. Her record was a hundred bucks, which she'd split at an even fifty-fifty with Mozzie. There was a chance that today, the record would be broken. They moved on down the street and settled on a bench; Gemma's hand closed around the wad of cash in her dress pocket.

"All right," Mozzie said, a hint of absolute delight in his voice, "Let's see it."

She pulled the cash out and discovered it was contained securely in a gilded money clip. "Do you think that's real gold?"

Upon closer inspection, Mozzie said, "I don't think, I _know_." His eyes widened. "Who did you pickpocket? A billionaire CEO perchance?"

Gemma shrugged. "One can hope."

She yanked the cash out of its holder and leafed through the bills. The man had been smart. He'd wrapped the smaller bills—ones and fives—on the outside. The five dollar bills soon turned into tens, twenties, and fifties. At the center, Gemma found several crisp hundred dollar bills.

"What was this guy doing with this much cash on him?" she asked. "I almost feel guilty."

"Guilt would be wasteful in a situation such as this," Mozzie said. "Maybe he had a gambling problem."

"Not much of a problem if he's striking it rich," Gemma countered.

"Better for us."

"_Us_? Do I _have to_ split it with you?" she teased. "I don't know, Uncle Mozzie, I could put this away for college—"

"You remember the elusive fourth rule."

Gemma groaned. "_Always pay the mentor_."

"Precisely," Mozzie said, rubbing his hands together. He watched Gemma count the money and tried to follow along to keep a running total. If he had to make an educated guess, Gemma had scored at least a thousand dollars. He couldn't help but feel somewhat proud that she'd broken her previous record by a long shot. A very, _very _long shot. Five hundred dollars—at least—a piece was a good deal.

And besides, Gemma didn't know she'd be getting that five hundred dollars back once she did go to college. Five hundred dollars and whatever else they'd split in the last year. The "fourth rule" was more of a hidden fund. Mozzie couldn't have Gemma keeping large sums of money in her bedroom. If Neal found her illegal source of income, she'd be in trouble. The fourth rule was important in keeping the first rule. She'd thank him later on.

"S'cuse me," said a roughened voice, interrupting Gemma's concentration, "I think you've got somethin' of mine."

She tore her eyes away from the wad of bills to greet the dark gaze of the man she'd pick pocketed. This was a definite first. While he didn't look mad, Gemma noted the crookedness of his grin. There was something smug in his expression and she couldn't figure out whether she liked it or not. She was at a loss for words. She'd never been confronted by a mark before. Mozzie, meanwhile, had tensed beside her and wore a look somewhere between panic and horror. One of his hands wrapped around Gemma's forearm, almost like a warning. His stare never left the form of the man standing in front of them leisurely, hands stuffed into his pockets.

"Of all the marks in the city," Mozzie finally choked out, "you had to steal from _Keller_?"

Gemma raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

"Ah, nice to see you too, Mozzie," the man, whom Gemma supposed was Keller, said. "Ease up on the kid, huh? She didn't know she was tryin' to steal from a professional."

"I take it you're a con, then." Gemma sounded defeated. "How do you know Mozzie?"

"We have a less than pleasant history," Mozzie said. "I would rather not revisit the details at this time. Or maybe ever. Gemma, I would advise you to give him back his money before he starts making death threats."

Keller's expression changed from smug to annoyed. "Would you relax? I'm not gonna shoot her just 'cause she swiped my cash."

"Don't believe him," Mozzie whispered.

Gemma stood, ignoring Mozzie, and shoved the wad of bills into the money holder. She held it out to him in a truce.

"You caught me," she said. "It's only fair."

Keller laughed. "I admire your bravado. You almost had me. Almost. Needs a bit of work. But, you got plenty of promise, kid, I'll give you that." He stuck his fingers through the hole in the bottom of his pocket. "My favorite suit, too."

"All part of the risk, I guess," Gemma said.

Keller took back the money. For a moment, he searched her eyes until Gemma looked away. The corner of his mouth quirked upward again.

"We should definitely get going," Mozzie said.

Keller dragged a thumb across his lip thoughtfully. "Your last name wouldn't happen to be Caffrey, would it?"

Gemma tensed. "Why?"

"Oh, nothin'," he said. "The resemblance, is all. It's unmistakable."

Mozzie grabbed Gemma's arm in an attempt to tow her away, but she wouldn't budge. "Must be a coincidence," he said.

"Nah, I don't think so," Keller answered. "Funny, he didn't tell me he had a kid."

"And for good reason," Mozzie said. He stepped in front of Gemma, effectively placing himself in between her and Keller. Gemma smirked at his attempt to use his body as a shield for the other guy's non-existent violent advances. Keller just laughed.

"My dad never mentioned anything about you," she said.

"Yeah. Can't say I'm surprised. We're not what you'd call friends. Least not anymore." His brow knit together. "And I see I've missed a lot. Does Neal know about your…sleight of hand?"

"Would I be here if he did?"

Keller grinned. "Touché." He fished something out of his pocket. "Here. I'd say you earned it…?"

"Gemma."

He bowed his head in recognition and pushed a bill into her palm, crushing it. It happened to be one of the once-crisp hundred dollar bills. "'Til we meet again."

"I doubt that," Mozzie told him.

Gemma watched Keller's retreating form, until he paused and pivoted on his heel. "Gemma," he called, as if he'd forgotten something. "Pass along a message for me. For Neal."

Keller tossed an object into the air; it fell into an arc and reflected the sunlight for a moment before Gemma caught it in her hands. Opening her palms like a book, she found an elegant chess piece. It was a simple pawn, sleek black, carved in a durable yet lightweight wood. When she glanced up to Keller for some kind of explanation or meaning for it, he had already vanished.

"Next time I tell you to leave, _you leave_," Mozzie was saying. "Do you realize you were talking to a man whose stare could have the power to kill if someone actually managed to harness it? And now he knows who you are. This is the outcome I'd hoped to avoid. This—_this is why you listen to me when I speak to you_." He threw up his hands in mock surrender. "Of course, I should have anticipated this. Selective hearing is a dominant Caffrey trait."

"What kind of message is this, exactly?" She held up the pawn.

Mozzie sighed. "Exhibit A," he muttered, "only further proving my point."

"Uncle Moz?"

"_We have two ears and one mouth so that we can __listen __twice as much as we speak_," he recited. "I suggest you start by taking Epictetus' advice. And hand over the Benjamin. I doubt Keller obtained it legally."

"I didn't earn it legally either," Gemma pointed out. "Are you going to tell me about this or not, Socrates?"

"_Epictetus_," Mozzie said. Gemma rolled her eyes. He let out another long-suffering sigh. "It's a game."

"I know _that_—"

"No, no," he corrected, "it's his…challenge. He's making another play. To tell Neal that he's not finished with him yet. Or, so I'm assuming."

"So," Gemma drawled, "He's like the Joker to Dad's Batman?"

"Essentially."

"Do we tell Dad?"

"Your pick pocketing days have most likely come to an end," Mozzie said. "We had a decent run."

"Who says it has to end?" Gemma asked.

Her fingers curled around the pawn, a hint of mischief dancing in her eyes. She and Mozzie began the walk to the loft apartment, Gemma weaving together the perfect lie.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything, except Gemma.**

**A/N: This was planned as a one shot. I'm not sure where it's going now, so I make no promises, but it wants to go somewhere! Funny how that works.**

* * *

"Damn it."

Gemma grunted as the coin flew across the table's surface, skidding and rolling to drop with a metallic _clink_ onto the floor. She had been trying—_really trying_ this time, not some half-assed attempt at pseudo-masterful trickery—to make the coin flip and dance with grace back and forth over her knuckles. She'd seen it done before by her father for as long as she could remember. When Neal did it, on most occasions while he wasn't paying attention or had his eyes closed, just to show off a little, it looked like a fluid waltz. When Gemma tried to copy her father's motions, it was like witnessing an awkward sixth grader with two left feet.

And she was much too lazy to gather up the eighth coin from the floor, so they sat in odd places where they'd fallen; the chairs, the far reaches of the table—one had even landed in the sink, but that had been because she'd thrown it out of sheer frustration. Gemma supposed her father hadn't gotten to expert level unless he'd endured the same trials and errors. She picked up another quarter and was about to balance it when her phone buzzed.

It was a text message from her father, who'd spent the morning mock-complaining about her day off from school as opposed to his routine at work. Though in Gemma's mind, his work at the White Collar Division didn't always seem very typical. Unless he'd grown used to the undercover jobs and threat of constant danger. Which, knowing her father, he hadn't. She'd pestered him into allowing her to tag along and almost won—it wasn't like she was a stranger there, either—but Neal had assured her that she wouldn't be missing anything spectacular. He had remarked, though, that if she could make a decent pot of coffee, her services might be needed next time she got a free day.

As if Gemma wanted to spend her free afternoon making coffee for weary FBI agents.

_What are you up to?_ he wanted to know.

Gemma smirked. _Bored at work, I see. Nothing. Perfecting my coin rolling skills._

She waited for his answer. It didn't take long. _Mortgage fraud. You know how that goes. Pretty exciting stuff. I'm going to be finding quarters for a week again, aren't I?_

Her laugh echoed in the empty loft. _Of course not…_

_Sure, sure. Mozzie there? _

Gemma leaned back in her chair. _Nope. Just me. _

Neal's reply took a bit more time. _Gotta run. Your uncle's giving me that look he gets when I'm otherwise distracted. Dinner at their place tonight, though. Italian. Talk to you later._

She slid her phone away from her and sighed. Coin rolling had become less and less fun the more she failed at it. Dinner was such a long way off, she considered texting Mozzie to ask him if they could find something to do. She did have homework, but it was a Friday, so that could wait until Sunday night. As usual. TV didn't have much to offer in the middle of the afternoon unless you liked soap operas, which Gemma didn't. The weather was nice—it wasn't supposed to rain until the sun went down—and she couldn't waste the perfectly good opportunity to get outside. And maybe earn a few bucks.

Well, _obtain_ was the better word.

_Are you free?_ Gemma asked Mozzie. Her choice of words would garner her a detailed anecdote, she was positive.

Gemma tapped her fingers on the tabletop, awaiting Mozzie's response. Her near-pull into her daydreams was rudely interrupted by a knock at the door. She lifted an eyebrow. Had Mozzie been close enough that he'd skipped past the monologue-length text and chose instead to give her an earful in person? Possible. Even more possible: June, with some kind of baked good or an offer of a piano lesson. Gemma would take that, too; her piano skills were rusty and June's baking talents were legendary in her family. The knock, though, had sounded too heavy and swift for June's demure manner.

"Be there in a sec!" Gemma shouted.

She scrambled up out of her chair and crossed over to the door. The person she found on the other side was not who she had been expecting. Her breath hitched and a cold feeling of guilt overtook her senses in a vice grip.

"Keller," she gasped. Her legs felt unsteady. "Who let _you_ in here?"

He looked appallingly smug, though Gemma was beginning to believe that was his default expression.

_You heard Mozzie. The guy's a psycho. Chin up. Don't let him scare you. _

Mozzie had talked her ear off on the way home that day after they'd encountered Keller. She'd received the short version of his previous exploits; a shady past partnered with her father, a penchant for gun wielding, and, _oh yeah_, kidnapping not only her uncle but also her aunt. And nearly killing her father. Gemma had never been in the presence of a man who killed without a second thought before she crossed paths with Keller. Now he was standing at their front door and she didn't have a single soul to help her. Her legs wouldn't stop wobbling. She grasped at the edge of the door and the frame and hoped it wasn't noticeable.

_How _did_ he get in here? Oh, god. June. What if he's hurt June? _

Gemma never did tell her father about the chess piece, the pawn. It sat wedged in between bottles of nail polish and a secondhand lock picking kit in her bottom dresser drawer. Now, with Keller's dark gaze upon her once again, she regretted it.

"I don't think I need to remind you," he said, "there are a lotta other ways to get in a building besides a door."

_Right. Don't be such a dumbass, Gemma_.

"June—"

"Would ya relax?" Keller said, all good-natured, like he was attempting to be friendly. "I didn't touch her. Don't even think she knows I got in."

_Well, that's great. _

She did nothing but glare at him.

"You wanna quit the hostility for a second?" he asked. She wanted to laugh in his face. "I'm bein' civil here."

"I'm sorry," Gemma narrowed her eyes, "I don't exactly trust you."

"Yeah, you're right. I'm not a trustworthy sort of man. Kind of a rare commodity among people like me."

"And you clearly enjoy that reputation," Gemma said, eyebrows knit together. She was still blocking the little space between the door and its frame, as if this six-foot-something, relatively strong, and certainly intimidating man wouldn't have been able to knock her over and gain entry. "Where is this going, Keller?"

_Hopefully not somewhere involving violence. Or…other things. Was he _that _sort of man?_

Gemma suppressed a shiver. "My dad's not home, if that's who you're looking for."

"Not interested in Caffrey," Keller said. Then, backpedalling, he clarified, "Neal." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I was hopin' to talk to you."

"I'm not going to let you in. You can forget that."

She didn't know how or why she was being so forward and tough-like with Keller—where the hell did this sudden bravery come from?—but she wanted to ride this wave for as long as it lasted. It was the only thing she had. Stupid, probably, but she had no choice but to be defensive.

"Gemma—"

"It's not unreasonable. I'm a teenage girl, alone, and you're…well, you're _you_."

He actually had the audacity to laugh. Gemma wanted to deck him.

"Listen. I'll be the first to admit I've got a reputation that precedes me, but not _that_ kind of reputation."

"Like murder is any better?"

_Why. Why would you bring that up? Shut your mouth, Gem. _

"Ancient history," Keller said.

"I'm not convinced." Gemma slid the door shut a bit more and crossed her arms. She gave Keller a once-over and put on what she guessed was her most stern face. Though, she probably showed more anger than anything else. "Are you carrying?"

There was the smugness again. "You interrogating me now?" Gemma's confidence was quickly depleting—she got the hint that Keller wasn't taking her as seriously as she would have liked.

_Keep it together. Don't let him spook you. Come on. _

"Just looking out for my own personal safety."

"You know, for a con artist, you sound awfully like a Fed."

"I'm not a con."

"Yet."

Now it was Gemma's turn to scoff. Okay, so, maybe Uncle Peter was rubbing off on her a little bit, but that wasn't bad. Not when it kept her alert and alive in these types of situations. She'd seen enough of the FBI's work secondhand to know certain procedures. But she couldn't count on Keller for honesty. It made her gut twist into an uncomfortable knot. What was she planning to do if he was carrying a loaded weapon? She wasn't strong enough to wrestle it off him. He had experience, he could be quick—Gemma would be lying on the floor in a pool of her own blood before she had a chance to see the gun.

_And then he would go after June._

"I don't have anything on me."

"Show me," Gemma ordered, "and maybe I'll believe you."

_But probably not, anyway. _

Gemma swore he rolled his eyes at her. She wouldn't doubt it. She didn't care, either; she'd inconvenience him all she liked if it meant not having a bullet lodged somewhere in her body by the end of this encounter.

Begrudgingly, Keller unbuttoned his tailored suit jacket and took it off, turning in a circle to show Gemma he didn't have a gun strapped or hidden somewhere. She made him pat down his shirt and pants for good measure, because she sure as hell wasn't going to do that herself and give him the advantage. He hated her for it, she could tell, but her uncle's voice in her head warranted such actions.

"Satisfied?" he asked. When she didn't answer, he pressed onward, "I got nothin'. What I do have is somethin' I thought you might be interested in."

_What is he doing?_ she wondered. And then, a sickening thought: _why did he listen to you? You're just a stupid sixteen year old girl. He could have taken you out. Simple. Easy._

_He's playing an angle_, her conscience reasoned. _Of course he is. He likes games. _

Gemma could play games, too.

She moved out of the doorway and gestured him inside but kept the door open a crack. It gave her at least some peace of mind knowing June was downstairs and if—_if_, heaven forbid—something were to go wrong, she could scream her lungs out and someone would hear her. It was easier to concede at this point, to let her guard down the slightest inch in order to allow Keller to back off in his own defenses. Maybe if she complied, he wouldn't hurt her.

Keller settled in the middle of the room, one hand resting on his hip. Gemma leaned her back against the table, thinking twice about a mad grab for her cell phone. A rash decision like that would be slow and useless. There wasn't enough time. Part of her hoped Mozzie had seen her text message. Maybe he would take her lack of response into serious consideration. He knew her, very well in fact. They texted each other throughout the day in rapid-fire conversation, probably exchanging more messages than he and Neal did. Mozzie would realize something was amiss when she didn't answer.

She was counting on it more than she was willing to admit.

"What is it?" Gemma asked.

Keller dug through his suit jacket—now back on him—and pulled out a photograph. He held it up for Gemma to take. She reached out, reluctantly, to grab it and let out a breath when he didn't make some kind of violent advance. She let her eyes evade his for nearly the first time since he had shown up here and instead focused on the subject of the photograph. It was a woman, and she was beautiful. She wore a simple black dress that hugged her petite frame; strawberry blonde hair, in loose curls, was swept over one shoulder. Although Gemma had never seen a picture of her, she knew who this woman was. And her father had been right. They did have the same nose.

"My mother," Gemma whispered. She traced her thumb across the picture. "Where did you get this?"

"I've worked with Annalise before," Keller told her. "She does pretty well for herself, I gotta say. I bet if you got the opportunity, you might be on par with your parents. You got the talent for it, kid. Just need the right resources."

"You're wrong," she said. "I'm not interested in that…lifestyle."

He grinned wryly. "Aren't you, though?" He appeared almost thoughtful. "I know that look in your eyes. Saw it right before you made your move and lifted my cash. Same look your father once had back in the good old days. Neal might've turned his back on it but it doesn't mean you have to, Gemma. You want to play the field. I can pull you off the sidelines."

_Oooh. Nice analogy, Mr. Reputation._

"I can't just do that," she countered.

"Of course you can."

Keller produced something else from the depths of his pockets and tossed it into Gemma's grasp. She felt her mouth drop open a little, her eyes widen ever-so-slightly in surprise. She held plane tickets—destination: Paris, France. And a passport. Gemma hadn't owned a passport previously, but this one had her picture inside. The information, of course, was fake. She wasn't going to bother to ask how or when he'd done it because she had an idea that in Keller's world, forging passports was child's play. The fact that he had what seemed like her high school ID photo on the inside made her uncomfortable again.

"'Nora Ashford'?"

"Your first alias," he was definitely enjoying this, "if you wanna take it."

_Alias. Plane tickets… What are you _doing_, Gemma?_

It frightened at least a small part of her that she was giving this a second thought.

"Let me try to understand this for a sec," Gemma said. "I don't picture you as the person to go through all this trouble to fly me to Paris to reunite with my mother. You're the guy who breaks apart families. You don't bring them together."

"Harsh words," Keller replied.

"You're not denying them."

He swept his thumb across his bottom lip for a moment. "True," he said. "But I'm doin' a favor, for Annalise."

"She didn't want to find me herself?"

"Tough situation. She's keeping a low profile."

"And…?"

Keller raised an eyebrow. "And what?"

"You're also not the type of guy to do this without getting something out of it," Gemma reasoned. "What was your price?"

_Your Suit is showing_, her mind teased.

"Ah, I knew you were smart." Oh, he was enjoying this. Far too much. "All right. Here's the deal, then. You work for me, on my crew. We're puttin' together a job in Paris. You help me, and I'll get you to your mom."

"I have no useful skills to speak of," Gemma said, a bit exasperated by this new information, "and you want _me_ to help you in a major international city on which I'm sure is going to be a major heist? I'm sorry, but…_are you crazy_?"

"Little bit," Keller said, with a laugh. "And you've got skills, you just haven't gotten a chance to use 'em. I know Mozzie's taught you more than pick pocketing schemes. Don't lie to me."

"I know a few things."

Keller threw her a very pointed glare.

"Okay—a lot of things."

"One job," he said. "If it's not everythin' you thought it would be, fine. You're free to go once I get you to Annalise. If you change your mind, there'll be a spot open. Your choice."

_One job couldn't hurt anything, right?_ Gemma thought.

_Unless he kills you. Then it'll hurt. You can't trust him._

_But he doesn't want to kill me. _

…_Not yet. You can't trust him. Don't trust him. _

_I've always wanted to go to Europe… It's one little job—_

_NO. Keller doesn't do 'little jobs.' One job and you're in for life. Things go wrong. _

_What would Dad say?_

Gemma tucked the plane tickets and her mother's picture into the passport. Keller glanced at his watch. Patience was not his forte and Gemma had detected tones of growing hostility in his voice the longer this conversation wore on. The knot in her stomach hadn't untwisted itself and she doubt it would until he left. She thought about reaching back, inching her phone into her possession, to see if she could get a message out. From this position, it would have been impossible. If he saw, he'd get angry. Keller might not have had a weapon, but he could still kill her.

_A blow to the head, his hands around my throat—_

_Okay. Not helping. Stop that. _

She needed him to leave.

"Sorry, Keller, I can't do this. I can't. It wouldn't be right."

"If it were right, everybody'd be doing it," he protested. "But we're not everybody."

"There's no 'we,'" she said. "I wouldn't be able to go without feeling guilty."

"Not even to see your mom?"

_Oh, no. We're not playing this angle. _

"It's not really an issue," Gemma answered. "She lives her life, I live mine. Thanks for the offer, but I'm okay."

Gemma handed the paperwork and passport out to him. Keller took it—and it was long enough for him to wrap his fingers around her wrist. She had been right. He was strong—alarmingly so. His fingers would leave marks behind the further they pressed into her skin. Gemma didn't cry out. She knew better than that, to keep herself in check, to remain calm.

"I didn't want it to come to this," Keller said.

Gemma wasn't at all comforted by that particular declaration. In the moment she tried to struggle against Keller's grip, he twisted her arm behind her back. The picture, the passport, the tickets flew out of her hand and into a haphazard pile on the floor between their feet. Her arm was now at a painful, awkward angle, and she realized in a shocked daze that his other arm was around her shoulders.

He had a knife in his hand.

_Where'd he get that? _

She felt the coolness of the blade against the delicate skin of her throat. Her breath came in ragged gasps, heart beating wildly in her chest. She closed her eyes for a fleeting moment and tried to maintain her composure. Gemma couldn't yell, not now, not when he had the upper hand in the situation.

_Kick him!_ her mind screamed.

No, she couldn't do that, either. The knife was too close; one wrong move and she would be lying in a pool of her own blood.

Keller brushed a few stray locks of hair out of her face. She wanted to do anything to avoid his touch, but couldn't. She was trapped, alone, with an extremely dangerous man wielding a knife. The outcome did not look good in her favor. Keller wasn't one to hesitate.

"I don't wanna slit your throat, Gemma."

She hated how uneven her breaths sounded. It gave her away, let him know she was afraid.

"I doubt that."

"Maybe you're right." He laughed. Gemma never wanted to kick someone so hard in her entire life.

"I'd tell you to let me go, but it would be useless."

"Smart girl."

"I try."

_Why are you still talking to him? Quit being such a smartass. He's going to kill you. Not the time for sarcasm._

_There's always time for sarcasm. Or so Dad says. _

Gemma felt like the breath had been knocked out of her, suddenly. She didn't know thoughts had the ability to do that.

"This is how it's going to go," Keller announced. "You're gonna to sit your ass down and write Neal a letter. Make up some BS about wanting to track your mother down. You've got a lead so you're going to take it. Running away on some teenage whim or whatever—make it convincing. You're good at lyin' to him, aren't you?"

Gemma closed her eyes against the burning in the back of her throat and behind her eyelids. She could feel tears, warm and new, welling up. She wouldn't let them fall, wouldn't let Keller have the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

"You'll come with me, work on my team. Or I'll run this knife across Neal's throat after I'm through with you. Or maybe I'll start with Mozzie or June. How 'bout that?"

"Please don't hurt them." Gemma's voice shook and she wasn't happy about it. "Please. Take me, fine, I'll go with you. Whatever you want. You don't have to hurt anyone else."

"'Atta girl, Gemma," Keller said. He released his hold on her arm, but the knife stayed. He ruffled her hair affectionately. She wanted to throw up.

He towed her over to a chair, forcing her to sit while he leaned against the able beside her. Keller pushed a stray pen and legal pad over to Gemma, who stared at it feeling numb before she set to work on her letter. Keller stood by her shoulder the entire time and twirled the knife in his hands with deft precision. Gemma was thankful for his temporary silence—she was sure that if he opened his mouth again, she would explode. When the letter was finished, she left it in the middle of the table. Keller scooped up her phone, grinned at what she knew was the unread text message from Mozzie, and pocketed it.

"Won't be needin' that," he said. "Get moving. We've got a plane to catch."

* * *

**A/N: Drop me a line and let me know your thoughts!**


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